


lilac

by EverybodyGetsHigh



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Nudity, bathtime fic, head over heels beel, mature language, pure fluff babes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverybodyGetsHigh/pseuds/EverybodyGetsHigh
Summary: warnings: nudity. mature language. totally whipped, head-over-heels, blushy beelsynopsis: after a strenuous workout, you offer to help beel clean up. or; i’m a sucker for bathtime fics :))
Relationships: Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Beelzebub/MC, Beelzebub/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 158





	lilac

sweat dripped down from his forehead, coating every exposed muscle in a glistening, moist sheen. the tiresome workout painted his cheeks a punch red. fiery orange hair that normally stood out in ruffled, messy spikes matted down to his temples. with every curl of his arm, every pant of breath, every stack of dumbbells he lifted; you watched beelzebub in a trance-like state. mesmerized by the muscly beauty you found in watching him break a sweat. 

with a grunt, he hooks the weighted bar back onto its stands. back muscles flexing when he shifts into a seated position, where his legs are spread out and planted firmly on either side of him. top soaked to the skin. 

he says nothing when you hand him a soft towel, only proceeds to dab at his flushed face. clad in only a charcoal tank, it permits you full view of his tattoos, and you admire the colorful sleeve of his left arm. teal, blush, and cherry red highlight a fire-breathing dragon and meticulously drawn flower petals; serpents, skulls, and the moon pretty atop his pallid skin. 

you could trace his tattoos forever, and beelzebub would let you. it’s those tender, quiet moments he cherishes the most, you know. and they always somehow seem to involve a certain (h/c) haired, kind-hearted human. 

he adored you in so many ways. there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you safe; to keep you wrapped up and protected within his arms. 

you press stop on his phone, simultaneously ending the recording of his work out, which he’d asked for. then you slip it back into his unzipped gym bag for review later.

“shower time?” you wonder aloud as he twists his neck, trying to get out all the cracks and ticks. 

beel looks you in the eye then and gives a firm nod of affirmation. “shower time.” 

with his palms digging into his knees, he pushes himself up into a standing position. groaning beneath the familiar ache in his shoulder and biceps. it’s impossible to miss the stiffness to his movements; the strain as he attempts to workout a few kinks in his limbs, and you can’t help but think that he’s overworked himself. 

as powerful and strong demons supposedly are, you’re sure even their bodies have their limits. and those weights aren’t made out of any substance you’re able to recognize. 

beelzebub’s too caught up in completing a few rounds of the shoulder stretch to notice you creeping closer. but with an easy-going touch, you place a hand onto his arm and begin to rub the buff muscle. doing your best to circulate any of the soreness out of him. 

he doesn’t protest when you coach him into sitting down again, this time with his back faced to you. your own actions are a bit awkward as you force all of your strength into giving him a somewhat decent massage. kneading the flesh of his neck and broad shoulders, applying more and more pressure until it elicits a pleasurable groan out of beel. 

he slumps forward, your touch like magic. it’s a subconscious mental relief more than anything. no one else has ever cared for him like this before. he’s always been the protector, isolated from his brothers in an attempt at handling his own grief and regret. but with you, with you it’s different. it always has been. 

each day you continue to stay in the devildom, is a day you worm yourself further into his heart. 

“how about instead of a shower, we take a bath?” you suggest then, tone harmless. 

“we?” beelzebub can’t help the heat that submerges itself beneath his skin at the mere thought. he can’t help the excitement he feels either, the sudden bounce in his knees unmistakable, and he hopes you haven’t noticed.

“yeah,” your voice is silvery, gentle. with a dip of your head, he shudders at the feel of your hot breath beside his ear. “let me take care of you, beel. you deserve it.”

did he? he wasn’t so sure about that. but he isn’t one to argue with a good thing. 

so when you clasp onto his hand and drag him from the personal gym within the house of lamentation, headed in the direction of the master bathroom connected to your room. he’s surprised at the sudden exhilaration he feels, that same eagerness he’s only felt towards food before. 

it’s something you’ve stirred alive within him on several occasions, but this time it feels different. it feels better, and he doesn’t waste time fussing over the confusion it usually brings him. instead, beel chooses to enjoy the moment. to have a little peace for once in his dull life. 

within the safety of your bathroom, beelzebub stands beside the tub as it begins to fill; shifting his feet as reality finally sinks in. eating him up like quicksand. _shit,_ what the hell did he get himself into? he wants to do this, he does, he really does. but the moment you began to unbutton your top, shredding the antique white fabric⸻his heart went into arrest. 

there you were, undressing right in front of him, and all he could do was gawk like a fool. jaw clenched, clamped mouth keeping a blissful sigh from escaping; gaze fixated entirely on every inch of you. 

fuck, shit, holy hell, what the fuck⸻his mind’s become a broken record of curses. with a curl of his fists at his sides, beelzebub harshly swallows when you begin to shrug down your jeans. left in nothing but your underwear soon after. 

your hair falls in front of your eyes as you slip your legs out of the denim holes. however, upon glancing up at beel, the panic that’s seized him is clear as day. written across his entire face. you can’t help but smile and tease. 

“are you coming?” you bit down on your lip and he startles at the abrupt question. 

“y-yeah.” 

he inhales sharply, chest hitching. then, with reckless hands he tears off his tank, slipping down his gray gym shorts afterwards. together, the both of you strip bare, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you take him in. _all_ _of him_ , and god, does he not disappoint. 

beelzebub seems to be having the same thoughts when he peers down at you; dark magenta orbs glittering beneath the elegant lighting of the bathroom. the crease between his brow worries you though, and you cross your arms over your chest, palms clammy.

“what?”

his eyes scare wide. “it’s, uh, it’s nothing. you’re just really h-handsome.” no one made him more nervous than you did. your mere presence caused beelzebub to lose his words. for his brain, body, and heart to quit functioning completely. he only got this flustered when around you, and it’s a delicacy you indulged in often. 

“oh,” the corners of your lips raise ever so slightly, glare softening upon his features. “well, you’re gorgeous.” you blurted out words you’ve had to bite back for what has felt like an eternity. every single time you see him they form atop your tongue. 

but it wasn’t his looks that you were talking about, although he was sculpted to supernatural perfection. it was the way he always treated you with amiable sweetness that made him so beautiful. it was the little things you found the most attractive about beel. you hope he knows that, even if you can’t bring yourself to admit it all the time. 

there are so many things you adore about him:

his laugh⸻an odd concoction between a snort and cackle⸻the most bellowing, obnoxious thing you’ve ever heard. but it only made you love him more. 

how he’d hum to himself while preparing another extravagantly huge meal. one he never intended on sharing but whenever you’d enter into the kitchen, all of a sudden there’s room for one more to join him. 

and how, because of his size, he made a consistent effort to be far more gentle with you. treating you often like you were a porcelain doll that would shatter at the first fumble. but really, beelzebub only wants to avoid another custard-kitchen disaster. 

you’d fallen for the avatar of gluttony, but you wouldn’t have things any other way.

clearing his throat, he adverts his stare at your compliment. that same rosiness returning to his cheeks but this time it’s for different reasons. though, before a clumsy silence can form between the two of you, you latch onto his wrist. 

“come on, i think the bath is ready.” 

he gives a silent nod, straining to keep his eyes on your face the entire time. he can’t help it though, his gaze is drawn lower. trailing further down until his breath catches in his throat. 

with a plop, the hot pink bath bomb bobs like an apple and immediately begins to fizz. disintegrating and staining the water the shade of raspberries. 

beelzebub slips in first, sloshing water over the sides as he does so. but eventually, he finds rest lent up against the back of the ceramic tub. he’s still a bit too large to fit completely, legs bent, but the rising steam warms him up. 

he refuses to look as you climb in between his thighs. the water is almost unbearable to you at first, burning hot, but you push through it to set yourself down. yet, as you shift to get comfortable, his eyelids clench shut. “uhm, please don’t squirm too much.” _please don’t_ , he doesn’t know if he can take it. 

you still instantly, shoulders hunched up. “oh, sorry. i’ll try not to.” 

now that you’re not facing him anymore, he feels like he can breathe again. you pick up a cup and shampoo bottle from the rack hanging over the side. while his stare traces along the plains of your body. he reaches forwards then and lightly drags his finger over the smooth skin, outlining random shapes. 

beelzebub doesn’t know what he should draw but when a rose comes to mind, he begins to sketch out pretty petals along your spine. you grin at the sensation, dipping the periwinkle plastic cup into the water so you can wet your hair. 

flipping the shampoo cap back, you’re about to squirt the gel into the palm of your hand when the violet bottle is nabbed up.

“let me do it.” 

“hey,” with your lips puffed into a pout, you retort. “i’m supposed to be taking care of you. not the other way around.”

his answer is short and sweet. “no need. i got this.” 

humming to himself, beel runs his hands through your hair. the coldness of the gel causes goosebumps to travel up your arms and torso. he’s trying hard to be extra delicate while he combs through your soaked locks. gingerly separating any tangles.

the feel of his fingernails scraping along your scalp evokes a pleasurable sigh to escape you. your lips remain parted, lashes fluttering closed, and you find yourself leaning back against his chest. he lets you, your warm flesh a comfort beside his own.

you fit so perfectly between his arms. the typically calm, collected demon almost wants to squeal. 

the smell of lilac floods his senses as he lathers your hair in soapy bubbles. they sparkle beneath golden lighting and your locks are so incredibly soft that he cant help but marvel. then, with the cup, beelzebub begins to wash out the suds, cautiously avoiding getting any into your eyes.

you _are_ taking care of him right now, by letting him take care of you. as nice as it is to be pampered from time to time, he’d much rather see you happy than himself. and that’s a startling thought⸻to know you’d give up everything and anything, even food, for someone else’s contentment. for _yours_. but deep down, he’s always kind of known it. that he would bleed out if it meant that you would smile. 

“this is nice.” you mumble, sounding almost sluggish. 

he doesn’t respond, not at first. train of focus on the moles that pepper your backside. 

feelings can’t always be described. sometimes, what you experience is too intense; too pretty, too sad, or insane. Some moments are utterly enchanting, to the point that no amount of literary metaphors or elegant words could ever contain the beauty of them. This was one of those times⸻this was one of those moments where no written word can do justice. Sometimes we can’t romanticize enough. sometimes we can’t explain the honest, transcendent emotions of realizing you’re in love with someone for the first time. 

beelzebub’s heart beats within his throat. 

“beel?” your voice is honeyed; curious. 

it’s gradual, tender, the grin that’s broken out across his face. beelzebub loves you, he’s in love with you. his arms come up to wrap around you, strong and protective, but you wouldn’t trade this moment for the world. with his chin resting atop the crown of your head, you’re submerged within his warmth. 

“it’s perfect.” he whispers. you look up at him then and mirror his smile. this time, the sight causes flowers to bloom within his chest. the motion of his thumb, rubbing patterns into the side of your arm, is a comfort like no other. 

it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on tumblr @ everybody-gets-high if you'd like :) promise i don't bite. i update my writing progress and take requests there. xoxo.


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